I dok po završetku Mundijala svi pričaju o lepoti igre, za Laurentiu Gingina to nije dovoljno. Po njemu, fudbal mora da se modifikuje, racionalizuje, oslobodi ograničenja, uglovi da se preoblikuju u polukrugove, igrači rasporede u zone i podtimove i norme preispitaju. Da su pravila fudbala pogrešna, shvatio je davno kada ga je tokom utakmice u mladosti igrač suparničkog tima tako jako šutnuo da mu je slomio cevanicu. Laurentin danas radi neinspirativan posao opštinskog birokrate, pa nije čudo što gaji neverovatnu strast prema novoj tj. svojoj verziji fudbala. Svi putevi vode fudbalu, ali i od njega – ka zemljoposedništvu, do plantaža pomorandži na Floridi, ka političkim utopijama i tragovima koje ostavlja život na sve nas. I to sve kroz nove verzije fudbala 2.0, 3.1, 4.7. Sve do beskonačnosti. They talk about the beautiful game, but for Laurentiu Ginghina, it's not enough. Football must be modified, streamlined, freed from restraints; corners are to be rounded off, players assigned to zones and subteams, norms revised. In retrospect, he first realized that the rules of football were wrong when he was tackled during a game in his youth, in the summer holidays, on another pitch now covered in snow, but in Vaslui, not Bucharest. The tackle hit so hard it fractured his fibula, a year later his tibia broke too, on New Year's Eve 1987, he had to walk home in the snow and no one helped him. Today he's a local bureaucrat with an uninspiring job, it's no wonder he prefers to talk about the game, his own version of it, to Porumboiu, his friend, the director, who's always listening, asking questions, nearly always in frame. Ginghina's monologues are so rich you might think someone wrote them in advance, they proceed from the same old subject, but never stay in one place. All roads lead to football, but all roads lead away from it too, to land ownership issues, to orange farms in Florida, to political utopia and the traces left by life, to version 2.0, 3.1, 4.7, to infinity.